MINERAL
hunted
in a mine
ourselves
granular
KINGDOM
we met
encrusted
in salt
I think
a tactic
our union
while the others
outdoors
to forge
a preservation
continue
as reckless
SOUND BITE
disappearing
a part of
almost
but I realized
SOUND OFF
as if from
myself
like a friend
you weren’t
as soon as
someone else–
the migration
but without
you found
you started
gradually left
saying goodbye
WITH
the answer
from you again
this relates to
sometimes
CURTAINS
and consequently
in a memory
others
unable to see out
I didn’t curtail
yet you returned
disregard from
one is simply
didn’t hear
and maybe
no
a window
DREAM
filmic
the midsection
before
I find myself
INTERRUPTED
close-up
aroused
anything happens
don’t find myself
this man
in my bed
this hoax
I must continue
in underwear
to discover
disheartening
with morning
Kevin McLellan is the author of the chapbooks Shoes on a wire (Split Oak, forthcoming) runner-up for the 2012 Stephen Dunn Prize in Poetry and Round Trip (Seven Kitchens, 2010), a collaborative series of poems with numerous women poets. He has recent or forthcoming poems in journals including: American Letters & Commentary, Barrow Street, Colorado Review, Kenyon Review Online, Sixth Finch, Western Humanities Review, Witness and numerous others. Kevin lives in Cambridge MA, and sometimes teaches poetry workshops at URI.